


The fic where Harry calls Louis an idiot for ten days straight because he is one.

by writing_practice



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Also fluff? What fluff? I don't write fluff. It's more appropriately termed 'cheeky cheese'., Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff, Christmas, Cliff is the best pupner in crime, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Established Relationship, Football | Soccer Player Louis Tomlinson, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M rating for a non-explicit steamy scene, M/M, Romance, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sharing a Bed, Sick Louis Tomlinson, Snowed In, louis is an idiot, restaurant critic!Harry, snickerdoodles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_practice/pseuds/writing_practice
Summary: They’ve found the perfect get away from their busy lives as nationally-famous footie player and well-respected restaurant critic, escaping to the isolation of a cabin in the woods where they can simply be Louis and Harry.If only both were actually here.A gift forgotten in London, the untameable force of the weather, and the scent of burnt snickerdoodle biscuits find Harry and Clifford pitifully alone and Louis... WhereisLouis?
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 53
Kudos: 156
Collections: 1D Christmas Fest 2020





	The fic where Harry calls Louis an idiot for ten days straight because he is one.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternately titled: "No, he's an idiot, he's not getting out of this by getting an alternate title."
> 
> Alternately Alternately titled: "Christmas Idiots."
> 
> Written for the 1DChristmasFest2020 prompt: _Harry finds Louis caught in a snowstorm and has to nurse him back to health_.
> 
> I had a feeling the prompter wanted angst and h/c, so I as much as a holiday fic allows I didn’t hold back on either of those (and yes, there's some liberties taken with exactly how the 'sick' part plays out though I did do research into hypothermia). There’s also some definite steamy (pun intended) content, but somehow this is the _softest and fluffiest_ fic I've ever written.
> 
> This fic would not exist without the inestimable Zanni (you can find her amazing works [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanni_scaramouche/pseuds/zanni_scaramouche/works?fandom_id=449545)), who beta'ed, wrote the summary, _and_ gave me an internet love slap across the face before I could scrap this whole thing. Also, Aoife, you eternal goddess, thank you so much for being the most incredible cheerleader I've ever met.
> 
> Happy Holidays, all, whatever you celebrate and wherever you are!
> 
> As always, these are 100% fictional characters I've made up and have absolutely no relation to the real people upon which I partially based them. This is, as my handle states, writing practice. 
> 
> If the feelz™️ in this fic fluff the flucking fluff right out your ears and you come away looking like a penguin chick molting feather fluff everywhere, I claim no responsibility. You have been warned.
> 
> To read the other fabulous fics in the fest, please [click here!](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/1dchristmasfest2020)

***

The snowdrops touched down like careless dust mites upon the limbs of the bare trees. Silent, sweet, the darkening woods through the front window of the cabin felt to Harry like a time-lapse photo, like the crackling Yule log film for the telly attempting to ignite the Christmas cheer with sugar-plum imagination when a real fire wasn’t possible.

Except the cabin they’d rented had a fireplace, and a fire actually was gently crackling behind him, harmonizing with Clifford’s quiet whining as he stood next to Harry staring at the closed front door.

Harry didn’t feel very festive right now though.

Because Louis was an idiot.

Yes, it was a universal truth everyone ignored that only you can choose how you feel, that no one can make you feel anything. But Harry was ignoring that too.

The fact of the matter was: he didn’t feel very festive because Louis was an idiot.

Clifford whined again, puppy-eyes turning up to Harry. Harry sighed, scruffling Clifford’s head.

“Least you agree with me, Cliff.”

Clifford butt his head into Harry’s hand; Harry lifted his other, clicked his phone on.

Nothing. Course not.

Reception was already spotty this far out, but the snowstorm must’ve hit one of the telephone lines. Mobile service had gone completely down a couple hours ago, when Louis was still back in London. 

Because he’d forgotten Harry’s gift. Because he’d insisted he could get it before the storm hit. Because it was only an hour and a half from London to the cabin they’d rented to enjoy ten days celebrating Christmas and Louis’s birthday together. 

Family and wild end-of-year schedules—practice and promotions for Louis and paragraphs and publications for Harry—meant they wouldn’t be able to celebrate Christmas _alone_ on the actual day (not that either of them wanted to), but that didn’t matter to them in the end. They’d been able to clear their schedules to spend a holiday together off-grid and that is exactly where Harry was now. Alone.

Because Louis was an idiot. 

Not because he’d forgotten his gift for Harry, but because Louis actually thought that three fewer hours together in exchange for a gift was a price worth paying.

“It’s fine, Haz,” he’d said when Harry had insisted one more time that Louis could just give him his gift in the new year, begged him to stay. Louis had snagged his coat from the hook next to the door and tugged at the curl flopping over Harry’s forehead at the same time. Doing two things synchronously came naturally to Louis. He’d cultivated the talent through years of footie practice that had earned him a spot on the roster as one of the top players in the country. 

Harry was less talented at doing two physical things at once so he’d kept his arms crossed over his chest while focused on trying not to frown.

Driving _three hours_ back to London for a gift while trying to outrun a snowstorm with the careful pace he drove was exactly Louis’ special blend of impulsive mismatched risk that led everyone to underestimate the footie player on the pitch, but Harry’s nerves were already on edge with what he’d planned for the end of their stay. He couldn’t help it.

His own gift for Louis was nestled where Louis would never find it: a cleaned out and empty _Marks and Spencer_ guacamole container in the refrigerator. After months of being hyper-aware of its existence _—_ the gift, not the guacamole _—_ he’d tucked the container there in the back while putting away all the food they’d picked up from the supermarket so they wouldn’t need to go out again for the rest of their stay.

While he hadn’t been above tying Louis to a chair to stop him from walking out that door, after all they’d made use of binds in the bedroom before, the look of pure devastation and horror that had fallen over Louis’s face when he’d realized he was missing his gift had shattered Harry’s resolve almost instantly. 

He’d known how important gifts were to Louis, whose very birth had been the ultimate Christmas gift to his mum and the world twenty-six years ago. Harry doubted he would even know Louis was carrying it when he got back. It would be small and unassuming and thoughtful, everything that Louis’s wild and flashy public persona wasn’t. It would be just like the heart the gift came from, perfect and precious and everything Harry ever wanted and yet never knew he needed until the moment he opened it.

And it would still be all those things no matter when Louis gave it to him.

He just wanted Louis here with him, the two of them curled up with Harry’s peppermint hot cocoa and watching the snow fall through the large window next to the fire. A snowstorm was rare enough, almost as extraordinary as the question he’d been preparing to ask Louis for months. A question he very much couldn’t ask if Louis wasn’t there to hear it.

Harry sighed, thunking his forehead into the cold glass. He closed his eyes, remembering the moment Louis walked out that door and wishing all over again that he’d put up more of a fight.

  
  


***

  
  


Louis’s unruly fringe was still flipped back from his face, held out of mischievous eyes by the headband he’d put on so he didn’t have to keep messing with his hair while he’d helped Harry roll the dough out for the snickerdoodles they’d made earlier. He popped the cream-shearling collar of his coat, presumably to protect his neck from the winds already kicking up outside for the short walk to his car.

“I’ll just pop down and be back in a tiff. You’ve got that article to finalize anyway for your boss...s’his name again, Neil?” Louis didn’t wait for Harry to confirm or deny, just winked instead. “Get that done while I’m gone so I’ve got you all to meself, yea? I’ll be back before you know it.”

Louis zipped up his coat while Harry frowned and quirked one eyebrow at the same time. _That_ statement made no sense in any universe. But instead of answering, he compulsively glanced down at his watch, a habit picked up after three years of logging every moment of a restaurant experience for his reviews. His brows furrowed. If the storm was predicted to hit at _—_

Louis slipped his fingers between Harry’s crossed forearms, hooked onto him and trust-fell backwards into the door. Bumped off balance, Harry’s arms flew apart and smacked against the door on either side of Louis’s head when he fell into him. Blue eyes flit back and forth, studying him, the barest hint of a frown tugging at Louis’s lips.

“Hey.” Licking his lips, Louis thumbed at the frown at the corner of Harry’s like he was brushing a crumb away and pushed a muted smile onto his own, closing the gap between their faces. 

“I want you to time me like one of your French restaurants,” he breathed, too low and seductive to be anything but a tease for Harry’s benefit. The back of his index finger whispered over the sensitive skin on the inside of Harry’s wrist, over the worn leather of his watch band. “Wearing this.” He tapped the band twice. “Wearing _only_ this.”

The shiver that rocked through Harry had nothing to do with the idea of going starkers in this weather. If it did, the shiver would have gone _up_ his spine, not down to fan out and flutter like butterflies low in his stomach. Arousal was the last companion his twin demons ‘nerves’ and ‘anxiety’ needed when Louis was about to walk out the front door instead of into the bedroom. He squashed it down.

“One of these days you’re going to stop mad-libbing Titanic to me.”

Louis hooked his fingers over Harry’s wrist, kissed the tender skin right next to his cheek. Harry had to keep his hands glued to the door or Louis would never leave.

“One of these days you’re going to stop watching it.”

Snorting at the sheer absurdity of that idea, Harry’s thumb perked sideways to caress the hint of stubble on Louis’s jaw.

“Unlikely.”

Louis wiggled his eyebrows, tipped forward to brush his lips against Harry’s just so Harry could feel his victory.

“Exactly.”

Their lips met before Harry could reply, as slow and lazy and perfect as the rest of their first day together had been and Harry knew Louis was savouring his ‘win’.

Kissing Louis was like sampling the finest wine, so exquisitely prepared for years that Harry cherished every decadent moment. Instead of berries and tannins though, the taste of cinnamon and vanilla cookie dough danced across Harry’s tongue. Those same flavours were currently wafting through the cabin from the oven where, try as Harry had, somehow the measurements hadn’t come out right and instead of thirty, there were only twenty-eight snickerdoodles cut like gingerbread men baking. 

When they parted, Harry bumped his forehead against Louis’s, but not before shooting him a softly-accusing glance.

Louis was the best sous chef Harry’d ever met. His athletic agility had him twisting and darting around Harry with ease when Harry was commandeering every inch of kitchen space. Too much ease, apparently.

“So that’s why we were two short.”

Louis just flashed him a grin, settling his forearms on the jut of Harry’s hip bones like armrests. He pecked another kiss to the corner of Harry’s lips.

“We were always meant to make twenty-eight. You just misread the recipe.”

Harry really should have known better.

“Think I’ll have my share of stolen sweets now then,” he grumped, but the corner where Louis had just pressed a kiss had quirked up. 

Carding his fingers through the messy strands at the nape of Louis’s neck, Harry cushioned his head against the door and drew their lips together again in a slow, open-mouthed kiss. Louis’s lips were still wet from the first kiss and Harry slid his tongue along the plush of his bottom lip, slipped in when they parted, seeking every lingering hint of cinnamon and vanilla until the soft breaks between kisses weren’t enough to keep up with the little pants for air they both needed. He’d long since licked up the lingering taste of biscuits but he’d never have enough of kissing Louis and the tight grip Louis had on him had him surging closer, needing _—_

Clifford bumped his head between them into Louis’s hip, startling them both apart. With a quiet, breathless chuckle against Harry’s lips, Louis’s arm left Harry’s hip to fall to the top of Clifford’s head.

Harry forced himself to pull away only after nicking one more quick taste of Louis.

But just in case Louis thought Harry was going to let him win without retaliation, Harry hooked his fingers into Louis’s headband as he pushed off the door, sliding it off. 

Louis’s fringe fell right back into his eyes. He screwed his face up, closing first one eye then the other to stop the strands from sticking to his eyeballs. It was Harry’s turn to grin as Louis finally gave up and shook his hair out of his face. 

“Drive carefully, alright?”

Louis’s eyes softened and he squeezed Harry’s hip.

“Always, Hazza.” 

His firecracker spontaneity never left the curbside and got behind the wheel. Years of driving younger siblings about meant Louis always drove like he had something precious in the backseat. 

Louis plucked one of his grey beanies from the pocket of his coat and shoved it over the mess of his hair, tucking his fringe beneath it and out of his eyes. Kneeling down, he gave Clifford a thorough scruffling and a kiss between the eyes in retaliation for the long lick he got across his stubbled chin. He glanced up to Harry and wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat.

“Feed Cliff at six for me, yea? Be good for Hazza, buddy. Love you both.”

With one more kiss Louis twisted the handle behind his back, whirled around the open door—the worst defender ever in Harry’s opinion—and disappeared towards his goal.

  
  


***

  
  


_Six_ was three hours and fourteen minutes ago. He’d finished and submitted to Niall his review for this week’s edition, made a hearty Brunswick Stew for supper that he slow simmered himself for forty-five minutes while Clifford chowed down on his food in far less than forty-five minutes, idly plucked at his guitar, ate said stew when it was ready, restocked the indoor firewood pile, tried ringing Louis four more times throughout but the line was still down. 

Mother nature never did concern herself with the wee whims of men and the snow had started falling early, only fifty-three minutes after Louis left. Which meant three unnecessary hours alone had now turned into a snowstorm and possibly an entire holiday alone.

Too focused on the oncoming blizzard and Louis’s absence, Harry had forgotten about the snickerdoodles until they’d started to burn.

He should have listened to the nagging tug on his spine when that four-letter f-word came up yet again. Louis thoughtlessly threw the word around, but it always made the journalist in Harry wince.

 _Fine_.

Nothing was ever fine if that word was used. No one ever described their happiest moments as fine. No child’s eyes ever lit up in pure delight as they screamed out the word ‘fine’ when they opened the best Christmas gift ever. ‘Fine’ was a word no self-respecting editorialist used in their work. Even his best mate and coworker Liam, who wrote the sports section for the _London Times_ and was the reason Harry had met Louis, only sparingly used ‘fine’ in his articles. No footie player ever wanted their performance to be dubbed ‘fine’ by any journalist and no restaurant wanted their food classified as ‘fine’ by Harry in his reviews.

The hook next to Harry’s coat was empty, tipping the space off-balance.

Short now two slightly-singed biscuits, one black-and-tan coat, and one very brilliant and talented and important football player, Harry clicked off the front porch light, tucked his phone away with a sigh and pat Clifford’s rump, nudging him away from the door.

After adding another log from the pile and making himself a cuppa, Harry fell onto the sofa, resting his arm over Clifford when the labradoodle jumped up and curled into his side. 

In front of them the fire popped and crackled, highlighting the walls in the warm glow of orange waves. Outside, the howling wind of the storm was the only sound that truly broke the time-lapse snowglobe of Christmas comfort that had settled on the cabin. The version of _Do You Hear What I Hear?_ currently playing through the bluetooth on the mantel connected to his phone was sweetly-soft. 

If Louis did call, that’s what Harry would hear. Because the music would stop. Not that he should need to hear his call. Because Louis should be here. But he wasn’t.

“Cliff, have I ever told you the story of the time your dad was a bloody idiot?” he murmured into the stillness.

With two tongue-lolling pants from Clifford and two pats from Harry, Harry took a sip then dropped his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes.

“Yea, you’re right, it happens a lot.”

If there was a bright side that wasn’t pristine-white snow blowing wildly about and settling thick and heavy on the bowes of his heart, at least he and Clifford had plenty of time alone to come up with a new plan.

  
  


***

  
  


The crackling fire had fizzled out, replaced with a quiet shuffling and snuffling coming from behind him. Brows pinching together, Harry opened his eyes to find glowing embers where firelight used to be. He scrubbed his hand over his face, pushed up on one elbow to look towards the front door. 

Clifford whined again, far more anxiously, scrabbling and pawing at the door. Harry groaned, yawned, sat up fully. An instinctive glance at his watch told him it was nine minutes to midnight. He hadn’t meant to doze off on the sofa, especially before letting Clifford out to wee one more time before bed.

“Hold on, Cliff. Hold on.” 

Unplugging his phone, he trod to the door half-blind as he rubbed at his eye. Harry flicked the front porch light on and reached for his coat at the same time, squinting from the light. Unlike Louis, Harry’s fingers just grasped at the air, wildly off the mark until he turned to look. He shrugged his coat up his shoulders and cracked open the door to see if he’d need his scarf.

Clifford bolted through the opening and disappeared outside the light.

“Cliff!”

Wide awake now, Harry darted out onto the porch. The wind hadn't really died down in the last two hours, though the slow-falling snow was little more than a haze hanging in the air now. He called into the dark for Clifford again but when he didn’t return, Harry zipped his coat and stepped into the snow.

He sucked in a breath through the ‘O’ his lips formed when his foot sank into at least eight inches of snow and instantly soaked through his trousers above his boots.

“ _Fuck_ fuck fuck fuck, Clifford! Come on, Cliff!”

He was so not dressed for wandering through the snow in the middle of the night. The last thing he needed was to lose Cliff now too. Heart thudding against his ribs, he bundled into his coat and pushed through Clifford’s wake, the wild mess of disturbed snow that veered left off the long carriage road leading from the cabin to the main road about two kilometres away.

Instant relief flooded his freezing limbs when he spotted Clifford stopped at the base of a tree about fifteen yards from the cabin.

Clifford nosed at the blue-star-wrapped bundle huddled against the trunk and whined.

Harry froze.

He recognized that blue-starred pattern. But...that blue was supposed to be in London.

Harry had put the emergency blanket in the boot of Louis’s car last year after they’d come across a handful of baby chicks stranded out by the side of the road and had no good way to give them a nest while they drove to the rescue vet. He spared only one glance around. Louis’s car was nowhere in sight.

The relief curdled, condensed into a hard tumour in the pit of his stomach.

“Shit. Shit. What. Shit. No—”

Snowdrifts roiled and churned about his legs as he plunged headlong through them and dropped next to Clifford. Shaking fingers pushed the fuzzy blanket Clifford was nosing back, revealing one frosted pale cheek. 

Harry’s lungs contracted around his heart. Fumbling for his phone, he clicked on the torch, flooded the small space at the base of the tree with light. 

Same knitted beanie, same black coat with the popped shearling collar, same grey pullover.

Beneath ice-tipped strands of hair bright eyes were closed, lips a pink so faded they’d started to turn blue. The blanket was shielding most of Louis’s face from the elements but the snow, whipped by the wind, had whirled inside, dotting long eyelashes white and shimmering high on bloodless cheekbones. The thin dusting of snow covering his huddled form must’ve melted into the blanket from his body heat. The starry fabric was beginning to freeze moulded around his head and body, mashed and mangled after the fall to earth.

“Lou?” he choked, unable to comprehend the impossibility of the moment. “Louis!” 

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Harry grabbed Louis by the shoulders and shook him. Limp in Harry’s grasp, Louis’s head lolled against the tree, dislodging the blanket sheltering his face from the storm. The wind buffeted over his features, swirled up the snow dusting alabaster skin. 

Harry smacked Louis’s cheeks and leaned in when Louis’s eyes didn’t open, ear right by Louis’s lips. If he was still breathing, the wind blowing through the branches covered any sound of it. Harry pulled back and shoved his hand through the wet layers clinging to Louis’ skin to press against his chest. His own heart lodged in his throat, cutting off his air because if Louis wasn’t … he couldn’t... 

Heartbeat. Slow. Too slow. 

Short-lived relief shocked through Harry’s system and shoved a strangled whimper past his lips.

He shook Louis again, harshly. “ _Louis_!”

Harry tugged Louis away from the tree he was slumped against, struggling to lift him out of the awkward position with gloveless fingers that had already gone numb. Louis was shorter, not as broad-shouldered, but he was lithe, in perfect shape with muscles engraved out of marble. 

His peak athletic form was likely the reason he was even still _alive_ but Harry couldn’t feel any warmth in his skin and if he didn’t get Louis inside—

Harry couldn’t lift him. He had to. He had to get Louis inside, but the position Louis was in, the weather, and his weight… Harry couldn’t maneuver Louis well enough to get him over his shoulder. 

“Shit shit shit damn it, please damn it, fuck! Lou _please_ —”

Next to them Clifford was barking, whining, pawing at Louis’s body but it only dragged the blanket away and uncovered more of his unconscious form. Louis’s arms were crossed over his chest, hands tucked beneath them, clutched into his body. 

Harry looked up anxiously for help, the cry dying in his throat because there was no help. No one was coming. He was alone. He and Louis had specifically chosen to be on their own together and he’d rather be separated from him because Louis was safe in London than watch helplessly as Louis froze to d _—_

A desperate sob swelled in Harry’s throat.

Heart jack-hammering against his ribs, he threw the blanket back over Louis and slid his arms around Louis’s limp, curled up form. The wind dragged a labored keen from Harry’s lips as he heaved Louis away from the tree. Louis’s nose was a cube of ice against Harry’s neck, but Harry clutched him close, biting his lip and nearly breaking skin from the strain as he lurched to his feet with Louis clutched to his chest.

Clifford’s anxious barks pierced through the wind, echoing back to them. He bounded around them and Harry didn’t try to silence him. Instead he prayed that somewhere Louis would hear his beloved pup’s distress and wake up.

“Cliff, go! Go!” 

The pup leapt through the snow a few feet ahead, stopped, turned, making sure Harry was still following before he’d turn and bark towards the woods for help then dart forward again. 

The wind whipped Harry’s hair wildly into his face, smacked against his eyes, forced him to squint against the driving snow. He didn’t dare look down to what he could see of Louis’s face against his shoulder, too afraid of sending them both tumbling back into the snow.

“Why are you here?” he gasped in confusion, already panting from the effort to stay balanced in the deep snow with Louis’s added weight. Why wasn’t Louis in London? 

“Why are you _here_?” 

Here outside. Fifteen yards away from the cabin. No car. Slumped against a tree. In the snow. 

Even though he followed the path of churned snow Clifford was making a few metres ahead, Harry’s feet still sank into the drifts and the snow sucked against his steps, forcing his pace to remain agonizingly slow. He babbled without thought until he needed all his air to just keep breathing, until a stumble nearly brought them both down.

“Why, Lou, why are you here, why did you _leave_ , you didn’t have to leave, why couldn’t you just stay with me? It’s just a gift, it’s just a bloody gift. I need _you,_ I just need you, I—”

Frozen fingers from the hand beneath Louis’s knees fumbled for the door handle and he shoved it open, too terrified to feel relief from the dry heat that enveloped them as he stepped inside. Harry set straight for the fireplace and once he eased Louis onto the sofa in front of the dying embers, Cliff bounded onto the cushion by Louis’s legs, clambering over his frozen form to stand on Louis’ stomach, whining, pawing at his chest, pushing his muzzle into Louis’s cheek. Louis’s head moved with his precious pup’s nudge and Harry’s heart broke watching the two of them. 

Struggling to keep the two pieces of his heart from falling away, Harry shoved off the sofa and rushed to the door. Channeling all the roiling anxiety overwhelming his limbs, he slammed the door shut on the whirling snowflakes billowing into the cabin like frozen talons, reaching for the man Harry had stolen from their grasp. 

Kneeling in front of Louis again, he kept his eyes on Louis’s ashen face, waving Clifford aside before clutching Louis’ shoulder. He dialed 999, held it to his—

No service.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck.” He tried googling hypothermia anyway. Nothing.

“Damn it!” His phone smacked into the corner of the sofa by Louis’s feet.

Shoving icy fingers into his hair, Harry closed his eyes and took two carefully deep breaths.

Cold. Wet. Warm him up. Harry threw the thermostat up without bothering to check the temperature.

Bath? No. Too much. He wouldn’t be able to tell if it was too hot, didn’t want to shock Louis’ system.

Fire.

Clothes.

Harry flexed his fingers to get them to comply and eased the useless emergency blanket from Louis’s body. He undressed Louis as quickly as he could, throwing each frozen layer off to the side. Bundling Louis up in the throw blanket from the sofa, Harry tried to ignore Clifford’s whines as he frantically stoked at the fire, threw on more wood, rushed upstairs to grab the duvet from their bed.

Louis didn’t move. When Harry finally had everything he could think of to help warm Louis back up, had thrown off his own coat, shoes, and wet clothes, Louis still didn’t move. 

Shoving the coffee table out of the way, Harry sat the two of them as close to the fire as he dared, hoping his own body heat would help.

Suppressing a shiver from the shocking freeze of Louis’s body against his bare skin, Harry threw the duvet around his shoulders and around Louis, curling in on Louis in the cocoon. 

Louis still wasn’t shivering. Not shivering was bad, right? Harry tried best he could to dry Louis’s fringe with one corner of the duvet before tucking him completely under the blanket and against his body. Louis's hands and feet were so cold they shocked a gasp out of Harry, but he folded Louis's hands into his stomach. He didn't know what more he could do for Louis's feet except keep them covered close to the fire.

Clifford’s whines died down. He nosed at Louis before spinning in place and plopping down on top of their covered feet. Harry felt Clifford's heat through the blanket and he sobbed out a quiet _thank you_ for the Christmas miracle that Clifford was. Head resting on Harry’s leg, Clifford stared up with sad eyes towards what he could see of Louis’s face mostly-hidden by the duvet.

Harry closed his eyes, forced in several slow breaths through his nose and out his mouth, needing his heartbeat to calm so he could feel Louis’s, so he could pick out his faint breaths from the hiss and pop of the burning logs.

He needed some sign that Louis wasn’t too far gone and that he was doing something right, because Louis’s breathing was as slow as a deep sleep and too shallow, and his heartbeat was too sluggish under Harry’s hand.

“C’mon, Lou. Shiver. Please. Please shiver.”

It took fifteen agonizing minutes for the first flutters to rock through Louis’s limbs. Fifteen agonizing minutes for the slow wheeze of his breathing to billow into proper shaky breaths. Beneath the warmth on his skin from Harry’s heat, he was still cold and unconscious, but Harry’s eyes burned.

“That’s it, Lou.” The words trembled out with Louis’s increasing shivers. Harry laughed, but the sound fell with a wet plop on top of the sodden pile of clothing next to their entangled bodies and the fireplace.

He didn’t know how any of this had happened, but it was so unbelievable for someone as brilliant as Louis to end up in this predicament that it could only mean one thing.

Louis had been an idiot again. He never did things by half. No, he had to be a full idiot.

“What the fuck were you thinking? Why d’you have to be such a bloody idiot?”

Louis shuddered against him. Harry curled him closer, pushed damp strands out of his face. The faintest colour was blooming back into Louis’s cheeks, but his eyes still hadn’t opened.

Unwilling to unwind from around Louis to look at his watch, Harry kept time with Louis’ steadying breaths, ticked away the seconds in heartbeats getting faster and stronger and measured the minutes with the lengthening space of stillness between shivers. He poked out of the duvet enough to stoke the fire, leaning over Louis and Clifford to toss on another log.

Harry ducked into the duvet with Louis so only a sliver of firelight and air reached them. On their feet Clifford shifted, a comforting weight keeping guard against the winter demons. Harry’s lips were right by Louis’s ear when he pressed their cheeks together.

“You know,” he started, desperate to fill the space with something that wasn’t Christmas music. His phone had automatically reconnected back in range and the instrumental version of _Silent Night_ was too wrong, too terrifying and too quiet. It was never silent when Louis was around. 

“The first time I ever saw you, you were flying, Lou.” He closed his eyes, wished he could reach his phone and put on some of the symphonic rock Christmas music they both loved, but he didn’t dare let go of Louis. So he dove headfirst into the memory to try and shove the anxiety away and stay calm for Louis.

“It’s true. You remember the match against Man City where you scored that incredible goal off a header in the fifty-seventh minute? That ball had been launched clear across the pitch and I remember there were four players all leaping to catch it and then you. _You_. Head and shoulders above everyone else you headed it towards the goal. You were so far away from the goal. No one expected it to go in. They underestimated you. We all did.”

His arms tightened around Louis, held him through another fierce shiver.

“I’m not underestimating you now, Lou. You’re not going to let a little cold get the better of you.”

He pushed on, blinking the burn of tears out of his eyes.

“I didn’t need that goal to notice you. I actually missed it,” he admitted sheepishly, “because I was too busy asking Liam ‘Woah, who is that’?” 

The words held the same amount of awe as they had the first time. He chuckled quietly.

“Then you scored. And everyone knew your name. The whole stadium was screaming and chanting your name and you were bursting across the Jumbotron like the whole world was making sure I’d never forget who you were. But how could I forget you?”

He carefully unwrapped one arm from around Louis, slid his hand down Louis’s arm to his hands tucked against his stomach beneath Harry’s other arm. They were still so cold, but no longer frozen. Harry gently stroked his ring finger, smoothed his thumb over the ‘2’ tattooed into his knuckle. 

“I know when we finally met it was like a comedy of errors, one bloody bungle after another, but the moment I knew you existed?” He shook his head, cheek rubbing against Louis’s, catching on his stubble. “That was perfect, Lou. Two years later and I still remember the exact minute I found you.”

“What time w’s’it?”

The words, formed out of the slightest of breaths, barely reached Harry’s ears. It took two seconds to realize he hadn’t imagined them, that he’d truly felt Louis’s lips brush against the base of his throat. 

“Lou?” He jerked his head back, looked down to see dim blue eyes, unfocused and half-open. “Louis? Hey, look at me. Look at me, please?”

Louis’s fingers twitched in his grasp. A faint smile tugged at his lips before his eyes slipped shut.

“Lou, don’t sleep yet. Just one more minute, please?”

Louis exhaled, sank against him and went still again. Clifford bumped his head into Louis, nuzzled at his side, but Louis didn’t move. Harry inhaled as slowly and deeply as he could, wrapping his arms back around Louis.

“It’s ok, Cliff. He’ll be fi—”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face in messy strands.

Desperate relief helped him to swallow down the lump forming in his throat. Harry pulled the duvet more tightly around them and whispered into Louis’s hair, “Five nineteen. I found you at five nineteen, Lou.”

He tucked Louis’s hand back beneath his arm and curled him close again as another violent shiver contracted Louis’s muscles. Praying silently through the tremor for Louis to fully wake up, out loud all he could choke out for the sake of his own sanity was,

“You’re such a bloody idiot.”

He jostled Clifford on their feet when he finally shifted to lay them both down and keep the blood flowing. His bum had long gone past numb, but he hoped the change in position for Louis, lying on his right side so his back was to the fire with Harry heating his front, would be helpful. Clifford waited until he’d settled Louis against him again before circling in place and curling up against Louis’s back.

Louis finally stopped shaking about an hour later. Fifteen minutes after that Harry deemed him to be warming on his own. Harry didn’t dare let him go though.

“How are you here?” he whispered, but the only answer he received was the Christmas music that continued to play on.

What the fuck had happened.

The wind whistled against the nooks and crannies of the cabin, signaling the storm still raging outside, but Louis didn’t wake again. Clifford was now fast asleep tucked against Louis and that more than anything consoled Harry into believing the worst of it was over. The tears pricking his eyes he let fall this time, crying silently into Louis’s hair, body desperate for some form of relief.

Eventually the heady warmth of the cabin, Clifford’s quiet snores, the lulling glow of the fire, Louis’s comforting weight in his arms, and the shriveled exhaustion as his tears dried out, calmed enough of the anxiety from Harry’s nerves for him to drift off.

  
  


***

  
  


For the next two days Louis drifted in and out of consciousness in time with the frayed edges of Harry’s heartstrings. The glorious warmth that had returned to Louis’s body kept burning until his cheeks were flushed with fever, sweat glistening over his skin where melted snow once clung. Not willing to risk the stairs to bring him to the bed, Harry set up a makeshift bed on the rug in front of the fireplace for the both of them with all the blankets and pillows he could find.

But he had no idea what to do. He turned the thermostat down to twenty again and let the fire go out. Louis’s green Adidas hoodie was still slung over the back of one of the dining chairs and Harry put it on the moment the temperature cooled enough to begin pricking at his skin. Surrounded by the warm Christmas spices, Louis’s hoodie did a lot to comfort his nerves, calm his mind and think maybe everything would be alright. 

He’d hung their wet clothes up around the cabin to dry, took care of Clifford in the few moments the labradoodle wasn’t curled up against Louis’ side, made some soup in the slow-cooker that Louis had teased Harry about bringing, but with his mind and one eye constantly on Louis, his coordination was off like never before.

The first time Louis woke enough to know Harry was there, Harry wasn’t ready and Louis had drifted off again before Harry could even get him water to drink.

He kept a glass of water on the coffee table close by now. 

The phone service was still out.

The second time Louis woke, Harry had finally given in and left Louis’ side to make himself a cuppa. The quiet, breathy moan of his name, laced with confusion and disorientation had sent the mug falling from his nerveless fingers. He’d spilled tea all over the worktop and floor in his haste to get back to him, Louis’s name on his lips. _I’m here. I’m here._

But Louis had already fallen unconscious again.

Harry had let the mess in the kitchen stay there for hours as his guilt festered, berating himself in time with each wavering breath Louis took beneath his hand. Elbow digging into the coffee table behind Louis’s head, he’d dropped his forehead into his palm. May as well let the bloody tea dry on its own. Spilled tea was as useful to Harry as he was to Louis anyway.

Harry left Louis’ side as little as possible after that, only for the basic necessities. 

Outside was crisp and clear, a bright surprising winter wonderland in every sense of the song. The trees shimmered with the snow draped over their branches, shaking down in a cascading shimmer as the wind or a squirrel knocked it off.

It was breathtakingly beautiful. Extraordinary for them to experience in this part of the world. The perfect backdrop for the plan Harry had been envisioning and fantasizing about from the moment he’d found out a rare snowstorm had been predicted during their time alone together. 

He never could have predicted this.

“Reckon you won’t be too keen on that walk in the woods with Cliff after this,” he sighed, gazing away from the window and down to Louis, who was laid atop the blankets of their makeshift bed with his head cushioned by Harry’s crossed legs. _It’s a Wonderful Life_ was playing on the telly in the background, but the volume was low enough so Harry could hear every shuddering breath Louis took. 

He tenderly wiped the sweat that had started to bead over Louis’ skin again from his brow, then set the flannel next to the always-kept-filled glass of water. Clifford sniffed from his perch curled on Louis’s legs, like he had something to say about Harry’s comment. 

Disconsolate, Harry snorted quietly, sharing a look with Clifford.

“I know, Cliff. He’s a bloody idiot.”

Louis only had a thin sheet covering his body, but he probably could do without the extra warmth of his furry heat source. Harry had no heart to make their pup move though, not when he and Clifford were both taking the same comfort from being close to Louis.

Louis’s eyes moved restlessly behind his eyelids, parted lips dry and cracked from the freeze and now the fever ravaging his system, but he didn’t wake.

  
  


***

  
  
  


A cold, wet nose was snuffling around his face. Harry jerked, turned his head away and tried to burrow further into Louis’s hair and the blankets of their makeshift bed. Bright light shimmering through the windows was trying to break through the crack in his eyelids.

The nose was back, this time sniffing at his ear. Harry groaned, shying away from Clifford in a desperate attempt to get just a few more minutes of sleep. He was exhausted.

Clifford whined, pawing at his arm.

“It’s your turn to let’m out,” Louis croaked, voice breaking on the words, as sleepy-moany as Harry felt.

“Why?”

Louis swallowed, the sound so parched and depleted that Harry flinched.

“Did it yesterday.” 

The words were hoarse and breathless. Harry’s half-awake mind almost didn’t process them. He drifted with the last one, let it float lazily around the black behind his eyelids like the old desktop screensavers.

 _Yesterday_. 

No, Harry did it yesterday. He let Cliff out last night and the night before and the night before too when he _—_

Louis coughed weakly into his chest and Clifford stepped on Harry’s stomach and Harry’s eyes shot open when the air was forced out of his lungs physically and mentally at the same time. 

He’d been careful about not overheating Louis with his own body heat while they were sleeping, but sometime during the night they’d moved. _Louis_ had moved. Harry’s head shot up, staring down at the top of Louis’s head where he was resting on Harry’s chest.

“ _Lou._ ”

Louis groaned, rolled onto his back when Harry sat up to hover over him. Harry must’ve been blocking enough of the light because Louis’s eyes squinted open a moment later. And although his eyes were hazy, this time they met Harry’s, focusing on him when Harry brushed the hair from his forehead. The flush had faded in his cheeks and his skin wasn’t so clammy, hair a rumpled mess. He looked drained, like three nights out on the lash combined into one terrible hangover.

“I feel like arse, Hazza.” Sapped of strength, Louis’s words were soft, like he didn’t want to use what little energy he had to speak any louder. 

“Because you are one,” Harry choked, unable to help the joy and utter relief from mingling with his words so they came out like he was in absolute love with the fact that Louis was an arse. “And a right bloody idiot, too.”

Louis started to say something, licked dry lips, groaned again instead. The groan had the same inflection as _fuck off._

Harry opened his mouth to speak but Clifford whined again, pawing at his back. Harry leaned down and pressed a fierce kiss to Louis’s temple.

“I’ll be right back, alright?”

Louis just grunted one more time, eyes sliding shut.

Leaving Louis’ side was a necessity, not a want.

Harry refilled the glass with fresh water and flicked the kettle on for tea while Clifford was outside. Once he let Clifford back in he followed the pup back to Louis’ side, kneeling next to him.

“Hey, c’mon. Sit up, alright? Should drink something.”

“Fuck. Everything aches,” Louis mumbled, muscles trembling with the effort just to sit upright even with Harry’s help. He slumped sideways into Harry, panting from the exertion as the simple action sucked away what little energy he had. His eyes fell shut as he caught his breath. He licked his lips, but his tongue was so dry nothing happened.

Harry’s jaw clenched as he touched the glass to Louis’s lips.

“Drink, Lou. You’ll feel better.”

Louis’s fingers curved around Harry’s after more urging but he didn’t grasp. Harry tipped the glass until he’d finished half, setting it aside when Louis drew back to breathe. 

Harry pushed stray strands out of Louis’s face. His eyes were closed again.

“Hey, stay with me.”

Louis mumbled something. Harry curved a hand over his cheek, relished the warmth of his skin. He shook Louis gently and tried to keep the emotion from warbling his voice too much.

“What the bloody hell happened?”

Louis grunted, lolling his head down to his side when Clifford bumped into him, nudging at his arm until Louis lifted it so the pup could tuck into his side.

Louis’s fingers curled tighter than normal into Clifford’s fur when his arm flopped back down to hold him close.

“Hey, Cliff,” he breathed, squishing Clifford against him and chuckling quietly as Clifford licked at his face. “Yea, yea, I know, I’m back.”

Harry’s jaw clenched.

“You’ve been back for three days. And almost were never back at all.”

The silence hung between them. Harry combed the hair out of Louis’s eyes again.

“Why aren’t you in London?”

Louis snorted weakly like that answer was obvious.

“Because I had to get back to you.”

“Then why did you—” _leave in the first place?_ Harry bit his tongue over the rest of that, quelled the frustration welling in his chest. “What _happened_?”

“I don’t—” Louis cut off as several harsh coughs broke through his words. He groaned, sagging into Harry, a little winded now. “I don’t know, Haz. Didn’t hit the storm until I was halfway back, drove right into it. Tyre blew just off the carriage road. Waited for the wind to die, but I couldn’t just sit in me car all night. I had to get back to you.”

“So you braved a snowstorm in the arse-crack of the night with no lights in the middle of nowhere completely not dressed for the weather.”

Louis chuckled softly, coughed again.

“Say that ‘bout sums it,” he mumbled, already half-asleep again.

Harry saw absolutely nothing to chuckle about. He shook his head.

“You’re a bloody idiot, Lou. All this for a gift? And what, did you have to leave it in the car anyway?”

Louis didn’t say anything. He must’ve fallen asleep again. Harry sighed, dropped his forehead atop Louis’s hair.

“I don’t regret it, Haz,” Louis breathed a moment later, the words mostly a mumble.

Harry squished him briefly.

“Get some sleep, Lou. I’ll have some soup for you to eat when you wake, alright? You’re not spending the rest of our holiday sick.”

Louis’s head lolled sideways into Harry’s neck and his hand curved over Harry’s arm, sliding with gravity down to his hand where Louis loosely tangled their fingers together. The wisp of his eyelashes fluttering closed against Harry’s skin had Harry’s heart thumping twice, only to burst into a billion little stars in his chest when Louis’s lips brushed his neck in a weak kiss, his murmur caressing Harry’s skin, slurred with exhaustion.

“Love you, Hazza.”

The wee star embers of Harry’s heart burst right back into a roaring fire so hot his eyes started burning. Is this how the Grinch felt when his heart grew three sizes that day?

Harry pressed his lips against sweaty, disheveled strands, eyes closing as he breathed Louis in. 

“Love you too, Lou.”

Having soup ready for Louis when he woke was going to be impossible now, because Harry didn’t think he’d be able to let Louis go.

  
  


***

  
  


Louis, Harry had the misfortune to find out more than ever before, was an absolute shit patient. 

Louis’s internal _please dial 9 for assistance_ radar had always been little more than a test model that glitched constantly, but his near freeze and then near boil had completely fried out what was left of that hardwiring.

Harry spilled Clifford’s supper all over the floor when out of the corner of his eye he caught Louis getting up for the first time.

Holding the sheet around his waist, Louis stood in the middle of their makeshift bed, swayed, eyes fluttering, and crumpled sideways towards the coffee table.

“Lou!”

Clifford didn’t care whether his food was in the bowl or not and happily ate the double portion as Harry dashed for Louis, hip slamming into the corner of the dining table and big toe catching the edge of the rug so he was unbalanced and already falling when he snagged Louis’s arm and yanked him backwards. They fell in a tangle of arms and legs onto the mess of blankets, Harry grunting as Louis’s elbow drove into his stomach.

“You idiot, what’re you doing?!”

Louis blinked slowly, dazed, processing the question.

“Getting up.”

“Jesus Christ, please bring us some Christmas brains this year,” Harry groaned, shifting upright with Louis and catching Louis’ shoulders to peer into his eyes. “You. Are. Sick.”

“Haz, I’m fine.” Louis rolled his eyes, but after nearly fainting that action didn’t have its usual effect. His hands hooked over Harry’s wrists and held on. “Just went too quickly is all.”

That bloody word again. Harry’s heart clenched for him this time so he didn’t have to clench his jaw. He didn’t need to be a restaurant critic to know the importance of liquid and caloric intake. An amateur footie player knew, so this professional idiot should too. 

“You were hypothermic, then feverish for two days. You’ve barely any food and you haven’t stood in three days. Where in that is the ‘fine’?”

Louis blinked slowly then frowned, brows furrowing. 

“I’m not wasting our time together like this.”

“You should have thought about that before you left.”

The words were out before Harry could stop them, the gate around his heart wide open after watching Louis fall. Louis had had his fair share of injuries on the pitch, but every one had barbed wire wrapping around Harry’s lungs and squeezing until the points pierced his heart. Now was no different. 

Louis’s grip on his wrists was feeble compared to the chains caging Harry’s chest. 

“I had to, Haz.”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t have to and you shouldn’t have. It’s just a gift. No gift is worth your life.”

Louis didn’t look away, his gaze as intense as any Harry had seen on the pitch one-on-one with an opponent trying to reach Louis’s goal.

“This gift is.”

“No, Lou, it isn’t! If it were then you wouldn’t have forgotten it in the first place!”

Harry wasn’t an opponent. He was just a lad in love. A lad in love who almost lost his love before he could ask Louis the biggest question of his life. The barbs punctured another hole in his heart.

Harry pulled away and lurched up, pacing towards the fireplace where he bumped his forehead against the mantel to knock the anxiety from Louis’s collapse aside. Behind him two coughs broke past Louis’s defenses, low and long.

“You know what gift is worth it?” Harry murmured, just loud enough for Louis to hear him. 

He turned back, hands falling uselessly to his sides when he saw the storm-clouds that had fallen over Louis’s features. Harry couldn’t keep the yearning from his voice, wishing Louis would just understand. He didn’t know how to make it more obvious than this. 

_“You_. You’re worth it. You’re the best bloody gift, Lou.”

Louis met his eyes, long enough for Harry to know it was deliberate and that he’d heard, then he slowly dragged his gaze down Harry’s chest. The chains around Harry’s lungs fell away when Louis’s bare shoulders, always so strong and proud, sank in one fluid movement. 

“You have dog food on your shirt.”

Harry’s chin fell to his chest, shoulders caving too. He pulled off the well-worn blue tee that could survive a bout of dog food and set it on the coffee table as he crossed back to Louis’ side. He sat next to Louis, caught the back of his neck in a gentle grip and touched their foreheads together.

“You’re the best bloody footie player in the country, but you’re not superhuman. Just take it easy, alright? For me? I don’t think my heart can handle much more.” 

He smiled faintly, adding, “My training regimen isn’t nearly as extensive as yours. Besides,” he flicked his gaze in Clifford’s direction. The pup had a back leg completely over his shoulder because dogs apparently don’t have bones, and was going to town licking his ghost bollocks. That made Harry try to hold back a snort of laughter. “Someone’s still waiting for his romp through the woods sniffing out all the squirrel nuts with his two favourite humans.”

Louis followed Harry’s gaze to Clifford, smile widening to show teeth. His shoulders straightened as he turned back, focusing on the admiring slide of his hands over Harry’s now bare chest. His palms came to rest over Harry’s swallows.

“Squirrel nuts, hm?” Hands in place, Louis’s thumbs innocently flicked over Harry’s nipples, eyes twinkling when the flash of pleasure had Harry’s lips parting. He leaned closer. “Something you want to tell me, Haz?”

Harry carded his fingers into Louis’s tangled hair and cupped the side of his face as he grinned. 

“I’ve got enough nuts in my life. And I know it’s a concern for you, but don’t worry,” he pat Louis’s thigh, glanced down at Louis’s groin a few inches from his hand, still covered by the rumpled sheet. “Yours are bigger.”

Louis’s thighs parted beneath his touch. 

“Cheeky blighter.”

As it moved slowly up Louis’s thigh, Harry’s hand was far steadier than the racing his heart was starting to do under Louis’s palm. He knew Louis felt it too because his fingers curled into Harry’s chest, his breath hitching this time.

“You love it.”

“Aye, I do,” Louis teased, his fingers curving around Harry’s jaw, head tilting as he leaned in for a ki _—_

Louis jerked back, barely twisting his head to the side in time to cough into his arm and not in Harry’s face. 

Squeezing Louis’s thigh one more time, Harry then held Louis’s elbow and hip through the coughing fit, heart clenching until Louis got his breathing back under control and was left wheezing.

Harry pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek instead. The stubble, longer than Louis usually ever let it grow, scratched at Harry’s lips and left them with an ache to match the one in his heart. 

“I’ll fetch you a cuppa. Just take it slow, alright?”

This time instead of standing, Louis fell back into the blankets and groaned.

Harry considered that progress.

  
  


***

  
  


_Schlop._

“Hazza, I’m dying.”

For the sake of his own still-healing heart, Harry chose not to dig into that hyperbole. Laid out beneath one of the chairs only a yard from Louis, Clifford stopped chewing on the bone caught between his front paws, eyeing the mess of broken egg at Louis’s feet.

Harry paused his stirring of the second round of snickerdoodle dough they were making to pluck up a cloth, kneeling to wipe up the goo before Cliff got any ideas. 

“You’re not dying. You’re just an idiot.”

When Louis found out Harry had been careless with the last batch of snickerdoodles they’d made together, he’d insisted they make another batch now that Louis was there to keep an eye on Harry and the biscuits. 

He’d also made some comment about how Harry had just proved his cooking skills weren’t as good as Louis’s, but that was so unbelievable Harry didn’t think to remember the joke.

It wasn’t the same as the first time they’d made the biscuits. Harry would have been just as happy if Louis chose to sit on the worktop and simply be with him, but Louis insisted on helping. Now that he was on his feet Harry could barely get him sat down. 

Louis’s entire career centred around his physical condition so for all that practice, Harry couldn't understand how Louis could be so surprisingly terrible at reading when his body needed to rest and heal. Pushing himself worked well to get Louis top-tier status, sure, but right now he was just being an idiot.

Louis moaned, folding in half over Harry and the egg, arms outstretched and gripping the edge of the kitchen worktop as he coughed into his sleeve, shoulders shaking through the bout. Harry quickly stood again, gently rubbing Louis’s back until it passed, left Louis's breathing ragged. 

The light cough Louis had woken up with three days ago had descended into debilitating hacks that left him breathless if he wasn’t careful enough with his lungs, temperamental as they were after the extreme stress his body had been through. 

Louis wasn’t used to being out of breath even after a match gone to overtime though, so the fight with his lungs now left him out of his element and dragging Harry’s heart across the ground with every brittle wheeze. 

Harry drew Louis close when he lurched upright, sliding his fingers into one of Louis’s hands and guiding Louis’s other to rest on Harry’s waist, giving him solid support while Louis fought against the tightness still strangling his chest. Drawing Louis carefully against him, Harry pressed his palm between shuddering shoulder blades, massaging Louis’s back until he felt straining lungs easing beneath his hand.

“You don’t know what you’re on about,” Louis finally grumbled after Harry helped him find the breath to speak. He thunked his forehead onto Harry’s shoulder as Harry swayed them back and forth completely out of sync with the bright rhythm of _Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree_ currently echoing through the cabin. Louis squeezed Harry’s hip for good measure before wrapping his arm fully around Harry’s waist.

Harry kissed the side of his head.

“Yes I do. You’re in ‘whinge mode’. That means you’re well enough to whinge about not being better.”

Louis sighed, sinking into the swaying of their hips. 

“The fuck you mean ‘better’? I’m already the best.”

Eyes closing, Harry tipped his temple to rest against Louis’s hair, hugging him close, cherishing the moment even as he smiled and responded.

“Exactly.”

Louis picked his head up to peer suspiciously at Harry, eyes watery, nose red, cheeks flushed, trying to decide whether to take that as an insult or a compliment.

Harry helped him decide.

He knocked his temple into Louis’s and stayed there, lips quirked in a cheeky grin as he nudged his nose against Louis’s.

“The best red-nosed reindeer there ever was.”

Louis pushed his hips into Harry’s, grip tight enough to ensure Harry couldn’t get away from him. Not that Harry ever wanted to, mind.

“Did you know Rudolph’s the only one of his kind because he vanquished all his brown-nosing enemies?”

Harry threw his head back and barked out a laugh.

“Don’t remember that tale from Nightmare Before Christmas.”

Smirking, Louis opened his mouth, inhaled to retort only to choke on the air again, his grip on Harry spasming as another bout of coughing wracked his body. He twisted away from Harry, bent over and grasping for something to stay upright as he struggled to catch his breath for the second time in five minutes. 

Harry’s lungs seized too as he caught the hand that didn’t find the handle of the refrigerator and held Louis loosely at his hip for the two interminable minutes it took for Louis to find his control again. The hacking finally faded to gasping wheezes, so quiet the music seemed loud. 

No more _Rockin’ Around_. The song changed. _All I Want for Christmas is You_ filled the silence. Neither of them moved. 

Harry’s gaze flicked to the fridge Louis was still holding, the guacamole container with its most-special of secret ingredients just on the other side of the door, so close to the white-knuckled grip of Louis’s left hand.

There was no way they’d be going outside before their time here was gone. Harry didn’t think Louis’s healing lungs could handle the strain. Maybe he should just throw all his plans aside. Harry didn’t want to leave here without asking, but how could he possibly ask when Louis was like this?

His heart sank. 

Louis’s low, careful, and breathy groan bounced back from the floor he was still bent over.

“This is a bloody nightmare before Christmas.”

“Hey.” If anything could return the buoyancy to Harry’s heart, it was the sheer refusal to let Louis sink beside him. Harry eased him upright again, fingers curving around Louis’s jaw to make sure he was listening. “The nightmare ended when you woke up.”

Louis tried to shrug off the words. His gaze fell to Harry’s arm on his hip, middle finger caressing the swooping stem of his rose tattoo before his hand curved around Harry’s arm, thumb smoothing over the petals.

Harry’s heart swelled from the tender touch. He leaned in, pressed his lips to one high, flushed cheekbone, murmuring into Louis’ skin. 

“You’re getting better. Coughing means it’s breaking up, right?”

Louis’s eyes closed and he shook his head when Harry pulled back to look at him, pushing his fingers against his chest. His watery eyes from all the coughing only made him look frustrated to the point of being upset.

“It’s bloody breaking _me_ up, Hazza.”

Harry smoothed his thumb over Louis’s cheekbone, let go with one final brush of his finger over Louis’s bottom lip. 

“If that’s the only thing breaking up in our lives, I’m not going to complain,” he whispered.

He leaned in to touch the barest of kisses to Louis’s lips because he needed to kiss him, needed the comfort as much as Louis needed it. Harry forced himself to pull away, much too soon for either of them, not willing to risk triggering Louis’s lungs. He had to bite his lip, using the pressure to keep from stealing a proper kiss from Louis. 

Louis’s hands gripped at Harry’s hip and arm, pulled him back in until the worktop pressed into Louis’s lower back and he was caged in by Harry’s hips.

“Lou—”

When Louis’s fingers wound around the back of his neck and buried in his curls, all Harry could think was how much he’d missed that steadying hold when Louis was unconscious with fever.

“Just let me kiss you until me bloody lungs give out, yea?”

“You shouldn’t—”

Head tipping to the side, Louis’s lips barely brushed against Harry’s, a tantalizing tease of warmth that sent a ping of longing through Harry’s chest. 

“Please, Haz.”

Chapped lips, slowly healing from the fever that had cracked them, pressed against Harry’s before Harry could talk them out of it. No snickerdoodle dough lingered on Louis’s tongue for Harry to rag him about this time. Just perfection, the type of kisses they hadn’t shared since the afternoon Louis left. The memory of the harrowing days after rushed a soft gasp from Harry that shattered any remaining hesitance. He pushed all the anxious love Louis had been too feverish to feel into the kiss.

Talented fingers clutched Harry’s hip and slid beneath Harry’s shirt to dig into the dip at the base of his spine, crushing their hips together. Louis’s tongue plunged into Harry’s mouth, frantic, like he too was seeking to say everything he hadn’t been able to say in days. Harry curved his palm over Louis’s jaw as his breath stuttered in time with Louis’s. He tried to soothe Louis’s desperation with his lips, his hips, his hands. 

For all Harry’s editorial experience, he’d never been able to describe how it felt to kiss Louis. From the first time to now, no metaphor, no flaring fireworks or sunburst swells were enough. Nothing could fully capture the whirlwind that always swept Harry up with every velvet press of Louis’s mouth against his own.

Caught between Harry and the worktop, the pent-up energy zinging through Louis set Harry’s fingertips tingling against the rough stubble peppering Louis’s jaw, his body singing with electricity as with each glide of their lips they forgot how to breathe.

Louis sucked in a breath against Harry’s mouth, but Harry heard his throat close over the air before it could reach his lungs. Jerking back as much as he could, Louis choked out a cough that quickly descended into another fit.

Harry pulled away enough to give Louis room to move, watching helplessly as Louis fought to regain control over his rebelling lungs. Every convulsion of his body was a hammer blow of guilt into Harry’s ribs. He couldn’t even get kissing Louis right. Delirious with his need for Louis to understand how much Harry loved him, he’d stolen the precious air Louis was struggling to find. 

“C’mon, let’s leave the biscuits for now,” Harry murmured when Louis had recovered again, sweeping tousled hair out of cloudy, frustrated eyes. “I want to be close to you.”

He wanted to get it right, not make things worse. Massaging his palm gently into Louis’s chest, Harry felt as much as heard the rattle of congestion clogging up his lungs. 

“And I think I’ve got the best thing to help these.”

***

  
  


“Peppermint. I forgot the fucking peppermint. How the fuck did I forget the bloody peppermint?”

“Because you were too busy remembering your cheat-sheet-slow-cooker?” Louis croaked from his perch leaning against the washroom sink, ankles crossed, as Harry shook his head, rifling through his pouch of essential oils. 

The roar of the bathtub filling with water drowned out the Christmas music still playing downstairs. 

“Peppermint is _essential_. It’s an essential bloody oil and it’s not here,” Harry muttered to himself, this close to throwing his entire bag of _useless bloody non-essential oils_ across the room. 

“It’s fine, Haz,” Louis cut in, ducking and tipping his head to try and catch Harry’s eye. Harry’s shoulders seized at that word but he didn’t look up, eyes beginning to burn.

“No, it’s not bloody fine, Lou!” he grit out angrily at the bag, all the frustration that had built up in the last several days spewing over and leaving nothing but defeat lodging like a lump of bloody coal, as useless as his bag of oils and his ability to do anything to help Louis proper, between his ribs. “It’s not _fine_! Peppermint is the best thing for a bloody cold, best thing for nausea, _certainly_ can’t make a bloody proper peppermint hot cocoa without two drops of peppermint, and now it’s sat home in my bloody washroom when I need it _here_ to help you and I can’t!”

Surprise sliced through his anxiety when a fist snagged his shirt and dragged him forward. Stumbling into Louis, Louis’s lips slammed against his, swallowing the startled yelp that welled in Harry’s throat. Thighs parting around Louis’s crossed legs when he knocked into Louis’s chest, his lips opened for Louis’s insistent tongue, shoulders caving as Louis attempted to sooth away the failure bubbling up from his core. He dropped the worthless bag in the basin behind Louis, sinking into him.

Louis’s palms were warm on Harry’s cheeks, easing the pang in Harry’s chest in place of his lips when they parted so Louis could breathe.

“It’s _fine_ , Hazza. It’s not the best, but it’s not the worst. It’s just fine.” He stole another kiss before Harry could argue. “And you better cast that bloody thought that you can’t help me out your fucking mind.” 

Louis pushed his forehead against Harry’s, voice even softer as he confessed, “I’m fucking alive because of you.”

The truth finally spoken aloud whirled through the air between them like a snowstorm, only to settle gently in gypsy snowflakes, icy but beautiful, over Harry’s shoulders. Louis’s quiet admission broke through the chains in Harry’s chest and his arms constricted around Louis’s waist. Grabbing fistfuls of the fabric clinging to Louis’s back, his words came out strained, the best he could achieve now that the bitter knot of bungling inadequacy sealing his throat closed had been replaced with a lingering ache to just _help_.

“Because you’re a bloody idiot.”

Louis chuckled, but cut it off quickly to suppress the coughs that welled with the sound. He swallowed them down, kissed Harry again instead then pulled back to slip his shirt off. 

Loosening his hold just enough for the fabric to slide through, Harry’s fingers curled gratefully into gloriously-golden bare skin once the shirt was gone. Louis’s muscles tensed and flexed beneath Harry’s palms as he wrapped his tee over Harry’s head like a hood, holding the ends closed at Harry’s chin to keep Harry in place, murmuring against his lips.

“It was worth it.”

It wasn’t worth it, but Louis silenced Harry with yet another kiss, soft but lingering this time, before Harry could point that out. 

Harry didn’t quite know when Louis had learned the effect his kisses had, but the need to kiss him that Harry had been holding back all week overrode any half-hearted attempts to figure it out. He’d indulged in Louis’s lips in the kitchen when he shouldn’t have but still all he wanted was more. He always wanted more.

He didn’t think he’d ever be able to handle all the intensity that Louis stored in one incredibly talented and fit body, but he’d give his all in the attempt to find out. 

Louis broke the kiss slowly as the final remnants of dejection weighing Harry’s shoulders broke away and dissipated into the steam now filling the washroom. Louis must’ve felt it, because his shirt fell to the floor when he released it to skate his palms down Harry’s chest and catch his hipbones. He grinned, thrusting his hips lightly into Harry’s.

“Now, have you finished drawing my bath, sirrah?”

The hunger that teetered and tipped the small inhale Louis took before the teasing words was impossible for Harry to miss. 

The spark of desire that shot through Harry had his fingers moulding into the hollows just above the swell of Louis’s arse. The grin stretching his lips against Louis’s was genuine, even if he had to restrain himself when Louis’s eyes fluttered from the tiny movement of Harry’s hands.

“Almost, milord.”

Louis returned his grin, nipped at Harry’s lower lip.

“That’s better.”

Harry slid his nails lightly up Louis’s back on either side of his spine, catching Louis’s earlobe between his teeth when Louis arched into him. He worried the flesh then kissed the secret dip right behind his jaw once Louis’s breathing hitched.

“Forgot the bubbles.”

Harry pulled away with Louis’s deadpan retort trailing behind him.

“Bubbles.”

“ _Always_ bubbles, Lou. You know that.”

  
  


***

  
  


Harry was beginning to understand Louis’s lacklustre response to bubbles. 

He may have put in too much to overcompensate for the lack of peppermint, but now the bubbles were blocking Harry’s view of everything below Louis’s collarbones, only the tips of the tattoo on his chest peeking out over the peaks of the stupid soap-snow. That wasn’t fair.

Though the steam didn’t have peppermint in it, all the tension had eased from Louis’s muscles when he slid down into the tub, head falling back and eyes closing in bliss. 

Harry swirled a finger through the bubbles, bumping Louis’s hipbone beneath the surface. 

“Good?”

The question came out more hopeful than confident. Seated outside the tub with a folded towel under his bum, Harry was trying not to wrinkle his nose like some sort of petulant Moses and glare the sea of bubbles into parting to give him a glimpse. 

Louis peeked one eye open to peer at Harry, arching his eyebrow.

“It’s almost perfect,” he agreed, twiddling the fingers of his left hand. Harry was fiddling with them as he leaned on the edge. 

The tub wasn’t large enough for the both of them, not without some inventive acrobatics that under normal circumstances they wouldn’t hesitate to try, but Louis made up for the lack of room. He shifted to lean into the corner closest to Harry, rather than straight back. His head was resting on Harry’s bicep now and it drew Harry’s lips up in a pleased smile. He winked down at him.

“Because I’m not in it?”

Louis winked right back.

“Because there’s no peppermint.”

Harry snorted, gaze falling from Louis’s eyes to their tangled fingers. He thumbed down the length of Louis’s ring finger, then traced the ‘2’ with the tip of his pinky.

Louis coughed, just twice this time, but the sound was clogged and wet and Harry winced sympathetically, shoulders hunching. The peppermint would have helped. Harry knew it without a doubt. 

Louis wasn’t the only Christmas idiot in this cabin. Only a bloody idiot would forget the peppermint on a winter holiday. 

“Hey.” Louis slid his fingers out of Harry’s, smoothing the back of a knuckle over Harry’s lips.

Harry blinked, realizing he’d let the frown win. 

Louis drew Harry's fingers over the edge and through the water, pressing and holding them against his chest. The water’s heat and the soap slide of the bubbles made Louis’ skin feel like molten velvet beneath Harry’s palm. Harry wished he could feel that satin heat over his entire body.

 **“** It’s alright to forget things, yea?”

The words were light, floating easily across the water, but Harry sensed the weight dragging over the bubbles behind them, like it was an actual question Louis needed him to answer. Harry was still strung up between twin pillars of disappointment and yearning, but the tone had him curling his fingers gently against Louis’ skin like he could hug the heart beating so sure and strong beneath his palm.

“Course it is. Forgetting doesn’t mean you think it’s not important, Lou. Just that you had something more important on your mind.”

Not much was more important to Harry than the gorgeous lad laid before him.

Eyes closing, a soft, grateful smile wound its way onto Louis’s face as he smoothed his thumb over the back of Harry’s hand. Louis took the deepest, steadiest breath yet since waking up, his shoulders relaxing. He sank a little further into the water until his collarbones were hidden by traitor-bubbles too.

Shocked by Louis’s reaction, Harry couldn’t help but mirror him with a deep breath of his own, heart swelling in time with his lungs. 

For days he’d felt so unable to help Louis, helpless to show Louis the unbounded depth of his love for him, only to be blown away by how his simple words could bring so much comfort to the lad he adored. 

Harry’s hand shifted, just enough to channel his breathless wonder into Louis’ skin, palm inadvertently resting over Louis’s nipple. 

Staring as Harry was, when Louis’s lips parted just barely with the hitch of his breath and the single pump of his heart into Harry’s hand, Harry’s heart skipped a beat too, trying to catch up to Louis’s.

Moulding his palm over Louis’s chest, Harry traced the dips of his muscles. Silly bubbles were no match for the knowledge imprinted in his mind after years of learning Louis’s body. He didn’t need to see to know where to touch or the perfect amount of pressure to use, gently rolling the tempting buds between his fingers until they pebbled and Louis’s chest was pushing into his touch as his breaths quickened.

Louis’s breathing stuttered and Harry paused, laid his palm flat over Louis’s heart and leaned closer to kiss the shell of his ear.

“Keep breathing for me, alright?”

Biting his lip, Louis nodded, turning his head until his forehead, sweaty from the heat of the water now, pressed against Harry’s neck. Tongue darting out to flicker over his lips, already moist from the steam, Louis carefully pulled in a breath through his nose, slowly exhaled through his mouth. The tickle of hot air against Harry’s skin sent his heart skittering in his chest.

Hand sinking lower, the water swirled around Harry’s arm as he mapped each ridge and furrow of Louis’s abs hidden like a sunken treasure beneath the bubbles. The sculpted muscles flexed and tensed with his touch, zipping a spark of elation through Harry.

Louis’s breaths shuddered the closer Harry got to the centre of his pleasure, biting his lip in an effort to not buck up and find the connection he no doubt desperately needed. Harry circled away at the last moment and a choked-off moan broke past Louis’s lips when Harry’s fingers stroked over his thighs, his back arching when Harry’s nails grazed over the tender skin where his hips and thighs met. 

“Hazza—"

Harry pressed his palm flat, low on Louis’s trembling stomach until the quiet gasps against his neck faded to pants. 

“Lie back, Lou.” Harry’s words washed over Louis’s hair. Cupping the back of Louis’s neck as Louis eased away from him, Harry cradled his head until Louis was leant against the edge of the bath again. 

Harry’s fingers curled against Louis’s taut stomach when he could see his face again, eyes cloudy with arousal, not illness, and cheeks flushed with need instead of fever.

Louis choked over a low moan, eyes fluttering shut as Harry’s fingers finally closed around him. Harry’s lips parted in awe as Louis’s mouth fell open, lips plush and inviting. 

The breathtaking sight had Harry’s heart stuttering to a halt. For several terrifying hours he hadn’t thought he’d ever see Louis like this again. He’d begged throughout Louis’s frozen shivers and fever dreams for him to come back and now Harry felt like he’d been shoved off a waterfall and plunged into the crystal clear waters of answered prayers. 

He kept his grip relaxed, the water and bubbles easing the glide of his hand. Each twist of his wrist and flick of his thumb drew a tremor, a gasp, a hitched moan, from Louis. Harry cherished every one, even if he had to grasp the edge of the tub to hold on and stop his control from slip-sliding into the water with Louis. Slow and tight, fast and loose, he changed his speed every time Louis’s breathing spiraled into wheezes, drawing him back from two edges at once. 

Body shuddering as he struggled to keep his breathing even against the surging stimulation, Louis’s wet hand smacked over the ledge of the tub, clutching to keep himself from thrusting up into the circle of Harry’s fist, but the water was already swaying with the movement of his hips. 

“ _Haz—"_

Not sure if he had the wits to try speaking, Harry squeezed instead of using words and Louis sucked in a breath, neck arching back against the ledge. The waves were now tipping, dangerously close to spilling over. 

Harry didn’t stop, watching the muscles in Louis’s neck and arm flex as he tensed, eyes falling shut again. Harry wanted to kiss him, swallow those breathless curses spilling from Louis’s panting mouth but he didn’t dare risk it, unable to look away as they cut off for a bare second, Louis’s tongue flicking out to slick his lips, arching, so close to-

A cold nose bumped into Harry’s arm. Startled completely out of his enraptured haze he jolted backwards, breaking the rhythm and letting go of Louis. Heavy blue eyes flew open and fell to half-mast, hooded and dark with wound-up need.

Clifford dunked his head over the side of the tub curiously, sniffing at the bubbles near Louis’s hip and getting them all over his nose. 

“You forgot to close the door, didn’t you.”

Harry had had far more important things on his mind than remembering to close the door. A brilliant footie player who needed to heal, to be exact. 

Before he could say anything to that though Louis groaned, well past the edge of wanton frustration. The unrestrained vibration launched him into another coughing fit as his lungs tried to follow the sound out of his body. Harry flinched as water sprayed every which way, splashing over the edge of the tub with the convulsions of Louis’s body and soaking Harry and Clifford, who flew backwards with four paws in the air because _water is death_. 

In his fear of dying from the wet, the labradoodle knocked into the freestanding loo-roll rack next to the toilet and sent it toppling over. It hit the floor with a resounding crash, the rolls plummeting into the tub and sliding through the puddles on the floor.

Glancing sideways at Clifford, bedraggled with his wet fur, Harry wondered if he looked just as pitiful. 

  
  


***

  
  


“You sure?” Harry asked, pausing with one hand on the oven door, the other holding the first tray of unbaked snickerdoodles. His grip on the handle tightened in an effort to quell the nervous excitement that fluttered up from his stomach and through his lungs from Louis’s question, gaze flicking past Louis to the refrigerator.

“S’the whole reason we chose this place, innit?” For this third attempt to bake a proper batch of biscuits, Louis was finally no longer on his feet, but sat on the kitchen worktop next to the oven. 

The footie player could never truly stop moving though, even in his sleep, and now that excess energy was being spent idly thumping his heels against the cabinets. 

Louis nodded in the direction of the front door and offered Harry a faint smile. 

“No one bothering us and undisturbed snowfall to boot? Seems to be the perfect setting for one of your real-life rom-coms.” He glared half-heartedly down at Clifford who was contentedly chewing on his bone. “Even if it’s the last thing _someone_ here deserves.”

Two-thirds of those statements were definitely true: they had chosen this cabin specifically for the chance to go on walkabout without anyone noticing the famous footie player, and it _was_ a beautiful setting, but in Harry’s mind Clifford deserved the world, because it was Cliff who had saved the world eight days ago.

It was that thought more than anything that had Harry double checking. 

So focused on keeping himself calm, Harry forgot to make a comment about his rom-coms and instead put all his attention on setting the trays in the oven and then setting the timer. Scratching his cheek, Harry then smoothed his hands up the worn grey trackies covering Louis’s thighs and back down again, eyes following the action. 

Over the grey joggers Louis had on his green Adidas hoodie, the one Harry had worn the entire time Louis was unconscious with fever. Above mellow eyes Louis’s hair was a fluffy, sleep-rumpled mess that he hadn’t bothered to fiddle with even though it was mid-afternoon now. 

Harry still didn’t understand how Louis pulled it off. He was a walking oxymoron that set Harry’s heart stuttering every time he paused to think about everything he loved about Louis. Carved muscles and chiseled cheekbones made even more pronounced by the scruff he’d shaved down to stubble yesterday, Louis still managed to be the softest, coziest thing in the cabin. Given the choice between curling up on a heap of blankets with a roaring fire or curling up with a quick-tongued football player utterly incapable of sitting still?

Harry chose Lou. He’d always choose Lou. He wanted to choose Lou for the rest of his life. 

He knew Louis was watching him stare, but Louis didn’t tease him. He met Louis’s eyes and squeezed his knees.

“I meant are you up for it?”

Louis’s thumb swiped over Harry’s cheek and caught the dollop of dough smeared there. After tonguing the sweet from the pad of his finger with hollowed cheeks and a snickerdoodle grin, Louis curled his hands over the edge of the worktop and leaned forward, tilting his chin down until their foreheads met. His knees opened to catch Harry’s hips and pin him. 

“Everything we planned while we were here we haven’t done, Hazza. Tomorrow’s our last day. Was hoping to get out there with you before me birthday. I want my bloody romp through the woods with me favourite human and the only Brit I know who doesn’t know what personal space is.” He gave Cliff another look at that last part, like his pup would actually care about personal space or was even listening. 

Two fingers fiddled with the hem of Harry’s maroon pullover, gave a gentle tug to go with Louis’s gentle smile. 

“Come with me?” Louis motioned towards the oven. “Once the biscuits are done, o’course.”

Even as his heart started hammering butterflies down into his stomach, Harry pretended to ponder the offer, tapping his lip.

“Walk with my favourite human _and_ the only Brit I know who doesn’t know personal space?” He cocked his head to the side, pouting. “But what about Cliff? He wants to come too.”

Louis shot him a very respectable rendition of ‘unimpressed’. 

“It’s like you actually think you’re funny,” he deadpanned. 

“That would be because I am.” 

“So you’ll go out with me?”

How their disagreement about Harry being funny translated into Harry agreeing to take a walk with Louis didn’t make any sense to Harry, but Harry had given up trying to follow Louis’s lightning-fast and obviously hardwired wrong thought process years ago. 

“No need to persuade me,” Harry chuckled, pout flipping into a grin. He reached to Louis’s left and flicked on the kettle. “But we’re both having a cuppa first.”

“No need to persuade me,” Louis teased, sealing the deal with a quick kiss. 

Knees still locked on Harry’s hips, Louis reached behind his shoulder and opened the cabinet, plucking out two mugs, one at a time, by hooking his finger into the handles. 

Not moving from Louis’s hold, Harry easily snaked his arms around Louis’s torso and pulled out the teabags, plopping them into the mugs once Louis set them down. He ducked under Louis’s left arm to slide the sugar jar closer to the mugs as Louis awkwardly pulled the fridge open, blindly poking around inside for the milk. 

Louis knocked a container and jerked against Harry as he caught it before it could fall out. Pulling back to see what it was, he wrinkled his nose, staring at the neon green container of _M &S _guacamole held precariously between his thumb and ring finger.

Breathing. Breathing. Harry knew what breath was. He just had to do it. Breathe. Breathe.

His lungs weren’t working.

Louis studied the container, squinting suspiciously. 

“Still don’t understand why this one’s your favourite, Hazza,” he finally mused, tossing the container lightly into the air to release and catch it in a proper hold. “They’re all bloody awful.”

“Because this is the best one money can buy.”

Praying the words didn’t sound as strained to Louis as they did to his own ears, Harry swiped the container out of Louis’s hand and reached as far as he possibly could over the cooktop without leaving Louis and plopped the container down. He hoped it was far enough that Louis didn’t feel like bothering to reach for it. “And it’s bloody delicious.”

Louis cocked an eyebrow at him, eyes devious.

“So delicious you’re gonna let it fester and go bad on the worktop?”

Harry was pulled out of the figuratively boiling water of his position when Louis was distracted by the click of the kettle signalling that the water was ready. 

Louis turned back to the fridge to fish out the milk this time. Releasing a carefully slow breath, Harry poured the water into their mugs. Louis then added a tipple of milk to each mug as Harry dosed them with sugar.

Their actions were so smooth that when Louis set the milk aside, both of them were beaming in accomplishment as they clinked their mugs together. And if they indulged in a few gentle kisses between sips, well, no one else was there to witness it.

Except Clifford and a very conspicuous guacamole container, of course. But for one of those, a rope-bone was much more important.

  
  


***

  
  


A gloved hand dug into Harry’s pocket, closed over his own. Jumping less from surprise and more because of how close Louis’s fingers suddenly were to Harry’s gift, Harry quickly released his tight grip on the box before Louis could feel it. 

Louis tugged Harry’s hand from the warm confines, lacing their fingers together, and Harry pushed out a breath of relief. After everything else that had gone wrong the last eight days, Harry didn’t think he’d be able to handle mucking this up too. Much as he hated the cold for what it’d done to Louis, Harry still silently thanked the weather for being cold enough for gloves. His palms were so sweaty there was no way Louis would have missed it if their hands were bare.

Side by side, they meandered through the woods with no destination in mind, the way home marked out by their footprints in the snow trailing behind.

“Think he’ll find any?” Louis asked as Clifford bounded in wide circles around the two of them, riling up the snow and sending it swirling into the air when he bumped into trees, shaking the white dusting from their branches. 

Knocked from his nervous prayers, Harry looked down from the bright sunlight peeking through the trees to Louis. 

Louis had his right hand tucked into the pocket of his coat, the black fabric and cream shearling dry after several days hanging over the back of a dining chair. This time he had his green Adidas hoodie on beneath it, the hood flipped over the grey beanie and Harry’s scarf around his neck so he was well and thoroughly protected from the chill.

He squeezed Louis’s fingers just to feel them move. 

Louis squeezed back, eyes down to watch where he was stepping, a small smile quirking up his lips. 

“Find what?”

Louis glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, face mostly hidden by his hood, and winked.

“Squirrel nuts.”

Harry grinned and bumped his shoulder into Louis’s, enough of a nudge to send his straight line veering to the side as far as their joined hands would allow, replying only when Louis was on the rebound back to him.

“Only if they’re as big as yours.”

Louis stopped walking long enough to shoot Harry an unimpressed glance, though a smile was playing about his lips.

“Trying to get into me trousers? Wee cold out here for that, yea?”

“What?” Harry blinked, pasting innocent confusion all over his face. Then he exaggerated the lightbulb going on over his head. “ _Oh!_ You thought I meant—” he pointed at Louis’s face and then his crotch, back and forth a few times, then laughed. “I meant your _foot_ balls are bigger.”

Louis matched his caricature with his own righteous indignation, shoving Harry playfully.

“Bloody wanker. That doesn’t even make sense.”

Harry got back to his straight path and knocked back into Louis. But this time Louis anticipated it, bracing against him and digging his feet into the snow. So Harry went a different route, winking.

“Bathtub wanker you mean.”

Louis was trying to keep a straight face, but joy kept breaking through and pulling his lips up. He suddenly pulled away to try and knock Harry off balance with his own momentum.

It worked. Instinctively Harry looped his arm around Louis before he could dart away, foot sticking out and twisting around Louis’s as he struggled valiantly to stay on his feet. His glove slipped off in Louis’s grasp and Louis’s half-laugh cut off when he yelped, sliding in the snow as he tried to counterbalance. He tumbled backwards over Harry’s foot, grabbing at Harry’s shoulders as he fell. 

Harry wasn’t expecting it, tumbling after Louis face-first and barely catching himself from crushing Louis when they both hit the snow in a tangle of arms and legs.

The shock of snow and suddenly being horizontal stunned them both, but then Louis started laughing, head digging back into the cold white blanket as Harry shifted his weight off him. His knees dug into the snow either side of Louis’s waist and he was halfway up when Louis laughed. Harry completely forgot what he’d been doing and got stuck hovering over Louis.

Louis had been too sick, lungs too weak for the past six days for his full-bodied laugh, the kind that split his lips wide and crinkled the corners of his eyes. The glorious peal struck Harry like a cathedral bell chiming the first snow of the season for a child who had never seen snow before. 

Blinding white snowdrifts surrounded Louis as he lay beneath Harry, eyes dazzling and clear, cheeks flushed red. The beaming, toothy smile and the laughter spilling from his lips lit up his face brighter than the pristine snow and Harry was completely arse over tit in love with him. 

He couldn’t imagine that first terrible night anymore. Forevermore this was the only image of snow he’d have. He wished he could snap a photo and keep it in his pocket to pull out whenever needed.

Bracing his gloved hand in the snow, Harry touched two fingers to Louis’s cheekbone, marvelling at the warmth of smooth skin and _real_ that soaked into his fingertips.

Louis’s laughter died down, but the smile still stretched his lips wide. He curved his hand over the back of Harry’s and turned to kiss his palm. Then, digging his palms into the snow, Louis pushed up enough to catch Harry’s lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

“I didn’t forget your gift because it wasn’t important, Hazza,” he murmured against Harry’s lips.

The words, seemingly out of nowhere, were enough to knock Harry back to his senses. He blinked, tipping his head to the side curiously.

Licking his lips, Louis fell back into the snow, digging his hand into his pocket.

"Being with you is more important to me than anything. I wasn’t thinking about anything except getting to you when I grabbed the wrong coat running out the door."

Perhaps the fever had messed with Louis’s already hectic mind. Or possibly Harry had seriously missed the connection somewhere. He gazed down at the coat Louis was wearing. Maybe he was wearing a name tag that would tell Harry what he was missing. 

No name tag. 

“What?”

Louis paused, eyes flicking back and forth between Harry’s, watching him. And then another half-smile wound onto his face.

“I picked this coat because of the storm. It’s warmer.” Louis’s hand moved again, and then he slid it from his pocket, gazing down at his curled fingers. Licking his lips, he paused one more time before letting the quiet words come out. “But my gift for you was still in the pocket of me other coat.”

Dropping his hand so it was palm up by his shoulder, Louis slowly opened his fingers to reveal the small velvet green box nestled in his palm.

For the second time that day, Harry forgot how to breathe.

Louis’s gaze was steady, but the faintest tremor was there beneath his words.

“I’ll never regret going back for it, Haz. I’ll never regret coming back to you, no matter what happened. Because I’d never forgive myself if I left this cabin without asking you to be me favourite fucking human for the rest of our lives.”

Harry’s vision clouded over, shock and joy mixing and mingling like an explosion of Christmas lights and fireworks in the sky, overwhelming him until he couldn’t think and he had no control over whatever came out of his mouth. He could only say something he’d said so often it was habit now, and that’s exactly what he blurted.

“You’re such a bloody idiot.”

“What?” Louis’s confusion, so incredulous that the ‘t’ at the end of the word had completely disappeared, had Harry laughing wetly. He dropped his forehead to Louis’s before Louis could let his emotion fully sink in.

“You didn’t need to go back for it, you bloody idiot. You could have just used mine.”

Confusion definitely overpowered Louis’ shock now. Harry bit off his remaining glove and tossed it to join the one Louis had pulled off. He curved his palm over Louis’s cheek with nothing between them and kissed him, digging into his own pocket at the same time.

Pulling back, he opened his fingers next to his own cheek, still hovering above Louis.

Louis blinked and Harry watched the moment it registered, blue eyes going wide. Harry kissed the ‘o’ of shock right off his face.

“I’d marry you with no ring at all, Lou.”

Louis’s gloves were off a moment later, fingers carding through Harry’s curls and around his back, dragging Harry down into a searing kiss, broken only when Harry couldn’t hold back his incredulous laughter.

Louis didn’t give him much time to laugh, pulling him by his collar to grin against his lips. 

“And I’d rather be an idiot married to a bloody idiot, than be brilliant and not have you.”

Harry dropped the box with his ring for Louis next to Louis’s in the snow so he could curve both palms over warm cheeks, falling arse over tit all over again into Louis and his earth-shattering lips.

A snow-covered muzzle sniffed curiously at the boxes, pushing them into the back of Harry’s hand. Harry pulled back in surprise, beaming at the labradoodle.

Clifford barked and pounced once, down on his front paws like he was prepared to play with the new toys. 

“He said yes, Cliff.”

“ _He_ was your pupner in crime?” Louis asked incredulously, staring from his partner to his pup, scandalized. His eyes narrowed at Clifford. “You could have given me a hint when you were helping _me_ , you know.” 

A snow covered nose pushed at Louis’s cheek before Harry could respond. Wrinkling his nose, Louis turned to look at his dog, obviously prepared to lecture Clifford on priorities, opening his mouth to _—_

Clifford sneezed right in Louis’s face.

“Augh, _Cliff_!”

Harry burst out laughing as Louis’s features screwed up in distaste. He groaned, wiping uselessly at the left side of his face. The look he gave Harry was long-suffering. Harry leaned down again and nipped at Louis’s bottom lip (on the side that wasn’t grotty with a mixture of snow, spit, and snot, of course).

“What were you expecting, Lou? You wanted a rom-com, remember?”

***

  
  


Twin mugs of half-finished peppermint hot cocoa sat next to a plate of half-eaten perfectly-baked snickerdoodle-men on the coffee table. Two coats hung near two pairs of drying shoes on the hearth, lit by the warming glow of the fire. 

The cocoa didn’t have peppermint oil, but the peppermint-stick stirrers were a worthy substitute. Phone service still hadn’t been restored, but neither of them cared. Clifford was happily chewing away at his rope-bone and TSO’s _Christmas In the Air_ was playing from the bluetooth connected to Louis’s phone. Their songs weren’t well known, but finding out they both loved the symphonic rock band’s Christmas albums had been one of the highlights of their early relationship. 

“Can I say Happy Birthday yet?” Harry murmured, head falling back into the seat cushion of the sofa so he could look up at Louis. He had his feet planted on the makeshift bed they’d chosen to keep as their bed, knees up, cradling Louis as Louis straddled his hips.

“It’s not me birthday yet.”

Louis’s hands were braced on the sofa cushions either side of Harry’s head. Both naked from the waist up, the firelight silhouetted Louis, but Harry didn’t need the glow to see his eyes twinkling like Christmas lights.

“It’s almost your birthday,” Harry pointed out, dancing his hands up Louis’ sides, trying to tease a kiss out of him. He glanced at his watch: 11:51. “Only nine more minutes.”

“Then you can be the first to say it in nine minutes,” Louis grinned, leaning down to steal Harry’s attention away from his watch, close enough that his hair tickled Harry’s nose. His nose was still scrunched up when Louis’s lips found his, as soft and warm as the day he’d left. The kiss was teasing, but peppermint cocoa exploded across Harry’s senses.

“‘Til then, how 'bout you...”

A low moan welled in Harry’s throat. Fingers curling into possessive hips, he captured Louis’s lips in a proper kiss, swallowing whatever else he was about to say.

Intoxicated on love and adoration, the sensual, easy glide of their mouths quickly became a match of teeth and tongues connecting with little space to breathe. The band on Harry’s finger flashed in the firelight as his hands swept down to the firm thighs clenched around his body, the muscles quivering under his touch as his fingers dug into flesh, trying to pull Louis closer. 

Strong fingers wove into his hair, as sure and demanding as the unrestrained rapture of Louis’s mouth consuming all the breath in Harry’s lungs, like he could make up for all the air he’d lost along the way to this moment.

Harry’s heart bloomed, swelled, then exploded in a blaze of fireworks that rained down multi-coloured snowdrops in a swirling maelstrom of euphoria over his body, because now that Louis was his fiancé, kissing him felt like a never-ending proposal and all Harry wanted to do for the rest of his life was answer _yes yes yes_ with his lips until his love was imprinted in bites and bruises over bronzed skin.

Drunk with the thrill of the ring on Louis’s finger, Harry broke the kiss, mouthing down the rough stubble on Louis’s jawline until it gave way to the satin heat of his neck, his pulse fast and fluttering under Harry’s lips. Louis panted against him, fingers twisting and burying in wild curls to hold Harry against his skin. Harry nipped, sucking at the hollow at the base of Louis’s throat until the flesh glistened crimson. Louis moaned and ground against him, reckless and restless and feverishly mesmerizing, and Harry’s heart and hips ricocheted up into him. 

Louis’s car was still waylaid with a flat tyre at the end of the carriage road, Harry’s car was still buried in the snow. Neither of them cared. They had nine days to make up for, and they weren’t planning on leaving the bed they’d made together until it had been Christened proper for a Christmas Eve birthday. 

Harry’s watch ticked midnight.

Tingling from the shockwaves thrumming through his veins, Harry crushed Louis against him, tongue sweeping over the tender skin beneath Louis’s ear, already slick from the heat of their rocking bodies. He blew on the spot. Louis shuddered, the flesh pebbling. Nerves ablaze, the hunger to taste every private dip and valley of the agile lad throbbing against him pooled low in Harry’s stomach. 

Nothing had gone to plan this entire holiday and yet Harry had ended up exactly where he wanted to be. A honeyed grin stretched across Harry’s lips with his whisper.

“Happy Birthday, you beautiful bloody idiot.”

***

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! 2020 has been a wild ride but let's all finish out the year strong! Kudos and comments are always appreciated, and if you're on tumblr, here's the link to [my rebloggable fic post](https://mercurial-madhouse.tumblr.com/post/638140237890158592/the-fic-where-harry-calls-louis-an-idiot-for-ten).
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, loves!
> 
> (Not going to lie, in my personal headcanon Harry isn't completely over what happened and it'll all catch up to him later on. They'll definitely have a full healing session sometime after this fic, that's for sure!)


End file.
